Tea and Sympathy
by Jeanny
Summary: Grissom shares some concerns with a good listener. (takes place after The Hunger Artist)


Title: Tea and Sympathy

Author: Jeanny

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Season 2 through The Hunger Artist, but esp. for Slaves of Las Vegas

Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please, it's very helpful. jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Summary: Grissom shares some concerns with a good listener.

Disclaimer: I own nothing (no, really) and none of these characters are mine. I'm merely borrowing them, and making no money, only fun.

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"Gil Grissom," the tall woman said with an enigmatic smile and a smoothing down of her chenille dressing gown. He didn't have to guess what sort of interesting costumes that robe might be concealing. He'd seen it all before.

"Lady Heather," he matched her way of greeting, then noted truthfully, "You don't seem surprised to see me." Her shoulder gave a half-shrug as she allowed him entry, sashaying with that commanding and yet strangely gentle sexuality he had noted in her before. He supposed that was why he was here, though it had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with a conversation they had had long ago. 

"I wasn't expecting you," she replied, "but as I think you're aware I'm rarely surprised."

"Yes, I know."

"I'd love it if you were here to take me up on my offer," she said, alluding to something that had been promised and rejected long-ago, the offer that Grissom had to admit crossed his mind, late at night, on occasion. Just out of clinical interest in deviant behavior, of course. She sighed and continued, "But I get the feeling that's not it. Some other murder you think I can shed light on? No, no, you'd come with company then, the lovely Catherine or one of your other associates...how is she, by the way?"

"Hmmm?" Grissom asked absently, having momentarily been taken with the beautiful silver tea set she was pulling out of a cabinet and arranging lovingly on a tray. His eyes locked on her face again.

"Catherine. How is she?" Lady Heather repeated.

"Fine. She's fine. That's new," he said, pointing at the tea set. His companion nodded, obviously pleased.

"Isn't it lovely? It's Russian. A gift from a particularly...satisfied...client, who happened to be visiting from Moscow for a few months." She turned, filling the kettle and putting it on to boil, all movements deliberate and sure yet oddly delicate. There was a small frayed patch on her robe near her right elbow that he suspected she hadn't noticed yet. Grissom found himself amused by the banality of it all. Tea with a dominatrix was nothing like one might think.

"It must be gratifying, to know that your work is internationally revered," he said conversationally.

"You didn't come here to discuss my work," she answered.

"You're right."

"And you didn't come here to become my work," she added wryly.

"Correct again," he acknowledged evenly.

"So why are you here, Gil Grissom?"

"An excellent question. I'm not sure I have the answer."

"How obtuse," she smiled, and turned as the kettle whistled its readiness. He said nothing as she poured the water into the pot and fixed the tea ball. Her back was to him, and he was uncertain if she was saying anything to him. Grissom hated being uncertain. However, when she turned and placed the silver pot on the tray with the other accoutrements, he could tell by her expression she'd been lost in her own thoughts. Gazing into her eyes, he found words coming unbidden from his mouth.

"I got some news today." 

Lady Heather tilted her head at him speculatively, then shook it sadly.

"Not good news," she said, dropping her gaze back to the tray, making the final touches.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, genuinely interested in her insight. She raised an eyebrow as she gazed at him again.

"You don't look like a man who's keeping down happiness. You look like a man who's fighting back grief."

Grissom looked away, his eyes briefly unfocused.

"Grief. Interesting..."

"Come," she said, lifting the tray and pausing to balance. "We'll take our tea on the terrace."

"Let me..." he said, reaching for the tray. She held it away, shaking her head.

"Not at all necessary," she said lightly. "I've carried much heavier things than this...and I enjoy playing hostess, especially for a man like you, who appreciates my...softer side."

"Indeed," Grissom answered with a small smile. He saw her place the tray on the table and tried to imagine the sound it must have made. When she looked at him she sighed.

"Such melancholy. Please, sit down and tell me why you've paid me such a delightfully unexpected visit," she said, adding. "How can I help you?"

"Ironically, you can listen," he answered, a small twitch of his lips the only facial indication of the flash of pain that went through him. She nodded, puzzled but willing, and he continued, "I just came from an auditory specialist. I have a condition called otoschlerosis. It's hereditary, progressive and incurable. Simply put, I'm going deaf."

"I see," was all Lady Heather said, sipping her tea and waiting for him to continue, no pity or shock evident in her manner. He supposed, ultimately, this is why he had come to her. Her line of work led her to take pain in stride. Even when it was the emotional kind. She said nothing more as he explained about his parents, about his own experiences that led him to seek a doctor's help. He paused, sipped his tea and finished.

"My primary concern is my job. I don't know how to do...what I do without being able to hear."

"You've never had to. Why would you know how?" Lady Heather asked, and Grissom frowned. She smiled knowingly. "You think you should know how. Or you think it can't be done."

"You're right. I don't think it can be," Grissom said with deceptive mildness, and she sat back languorously, brushing her index finger against the lip of her cup in an idle gesture.

"So what are you planning to do then?" she asked, regarding him placidly. Grissom gave a quick headshake as he picked up his own cup.

"I'm not there yet," he said shortly. He didn't allow it to show but he was shocked when she smiled at him then, a shrewd gleam in her eyes.

"You're still riding the shock. The pain. It's driving you. It drove you here."

Grissom took a long sip to cover his own thought. He`d had a similar thought himself, moments ago, but to hear her say it aloud made him wonder.

"I think this is what drove me here."

"What?"

"You make excellent tea, Lady Heather."

"I thank you, Gil Grissom," she said with ladylike graciousness.

"You are a kind and generous listener," he added.

"And you'd rather work through the rest of this on your own. Or with some of your friends, yes?" Lady Heather's mouth turned up in amusement. They finished their tea in silence, and Gil stood when she did, loading the used items on the tray after raising a meaningful eyebrow. He walked into her kitchen and placed items where she indicated. It wasn't lost to him that every thing she wanted him to do had been communicated without a word being spoken. After the kitchen was cleared, she walked with him to the door.

"Thank you," Gil said as she stood in the doorframe. He reached out his hand, and she took it, not in a shake but in a kind of comforting squeeze. He wasn't at all surprised to feel the unladylike callouses there. What she did had to be murder on the hands. "For not saying you're sorry."

"I guessed that you hadn't come here for sympathy," she said, laughing softly. "No one does."

"I'm still not really sure what I did come here for," Grissom admitted with a smile. "But it doesn't really matter anymore. Maybe that was the point."

Lady Heather shrugged. The only thing revealed by the gesture was the creamy white curve of her shoulder as her robe slipped.

"Well, you're welcome anytime. For tea, if not for sympathy. As well as...anything else that might appeal."

"I'll bear that in mind," Grissom said as he walked back into a world where he figured out other people's motives, while keeping his own a mystery from even himself.

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The End

Feedback, as always, much appreciated.


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